


Waiting You Out

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt from the amazing anon who gave me this: </p><p>“Jesse kisses Cassidy and tastes blood on his mouth, he gets concerned and from time to time keeps asking Cass if he’s okay or he’s sick or dYING. Cass finds it funny at first but it gets annoying after a while and he finally says that he’s a vampire, taking some bottle of blood from his coat of whatever.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting You Out

If Cass had learned one thing about Jesse Custer, it was that he was about as observant as a pile of bricks. Bricks for Dummies. ‘Sorry, little Johnny Brick can’t come back to Pre-K, he keeps eating the glue and shitting his pants’ kind of brick. Cass was damn near losing his mind. Bad enough that Jesse wouldn’t notice Emily’s crush if it sauntered up and squeezed his ass cheeks (and as a vamp who hadn’t been laid in _months_ Cass took that as a personal offense), but what was worse was that Jesse missed the toxic stuff as well, stuff that was a downright danger to his heath. Girls—bless them—were a danger all their own, though not the kind that Cass was concerned with right now.

 

He took a tire iron to the back of the gobshite’s neck and as something snapped he thought, “ _Maybe I should buy the bastard a tracker. One of those GPS things so he can’t go a wanderin’_.” Except that was expensive, and Cass had no funds (the guys he killed never were carrying cash—figures), so maybe a cowbell instead? Cheap and did basically the same job.

 

“Don’t want you,” the tall one gurgled, blood and snot pouring out his orifices. “The preacher—”

 

His buddy was dead as a doornail and Cass sat right on this one’s chest, grinding down and enjoying the pop!, pop!, pop! of his ribs. Cass just managed to slap a hand over the guy’s mouth before her shrieked.

 

“Now, now, you wanna be quiet, don’t ya, you lil’ shite?” Cass pressed a bloody finger against his lips. “Shhhh.”

 

This wasn’t the first time these asshole clones had gone on about wanting Jesse instead of him. If it was true Cass couldn’t imagine why, though he got a giddy kind of amusement at their own stupidity.

 

They kept saying they wanted Jesse like that would make Cass _kill them less_.

 

“Back to hell with ye,” he growled and the tire iron came down on his face.

 

That was that then. Time for his reward. Cass reared back dramatically before plowing face first into the sucker’s neck. He kept it as clean as he was able, one good bite that poured mouthful after mouthful of blood down his throat. It was always harder with a corpse though, and soon drawing the blood out himself became too much of a pain. He’d had enough for now anyway.

 

Cass wiped the sweat from his brow, the blood from his lips, and then rolled off the guy, careful to avoid those dangerous spots now that the sun had changed position. Lucky for Cass, the wanker assassins had been tiptoeing around the shaded areas behind the church... a lot like a couple of wanker assassins. Cass felt a stupid amount of vindication in that.

 

Back pressed to the church wall, he carefully took a peek around the corner… and there was the target, Jesse, drinking in the graveyard of all places. Cass shook his head.

 

It was still a good hour before dusk, but no one would be coming this way until morning. Cass would bury these clone assholes after dinner—after he’d spent some time with his padre.

 

Stealing the coat off the large one, Cass made himself into a vamp burrito and hoofed it across the field. Jesse saw him coming a mile away.

 

“The hell you doin’, Cass?”

 

Not the best time for him to answer—damned Texas sun. Instead Cass dove into the shade of Jesse’s umbrella, practicing the whole ‘stop, drop, and roll’ business when he felt his arm starting to light up. Safety first, kids.

 

Jesse was staring at him. “Sometimes I worry about you,” he said.

 

“Aww, givin’ me that warm an’ tingly feelin’, you are.” Cass cursed when he finally sat up, leaning against Jesse’s chair. “So, what brings you to this fair graveyard? If you’re robbin’ the graves I want in.”

 

In truth it was kind of spooky. Tombstones, dead flowers, a man looking like he was fading with the day... graveyards—small town graveyards—were creepy as fuck, even by Cass’ standards.

 

When Jesse didn’t answer (and oh yes, that definitely helped the creep factor) Cass shrugged the coat off and got on his knees, lounging on the chair’s armrest.

 

“Jess? Seriously, you okay?”

 

“He ripped his heart out,” Jesse whispered and turned eyes on Cass.

 

Oh. Yeah, that.

 

The picture was still up, largely because Jesse still wanted it there and no one else could be arsed to care. Hell, Emily was the only one who’d bothered to attend the funeral... though Cass had been watching from the church window, there for Jesse if not for the annoying man who’d actually died.

 

He did get it though. Cass had seen weirder stuff than some guy losing it in front of his mother—hell, he _was_ weirder stuff—but he’d also seen the guy from afar: jeans, sensible shirts, the expressions of a boring man. He hadn’t been a part of the weirdness that was Cassidy, Vampire Extraordinaire, or even Jesse, Badass Preacher. Shit was commonplace. It was when shit intersected with the ordinary that it got horrific.

 

For a lesser man Cass would have asked if he’d actually given a damn about this nobody. For Jesse he kept his mouth shut. Stupid padre cared too much, Cass knew it well.

 

That was going to bite him in the ass someday.

 

“Gonna rain tonight,” Cass said instead. “Best get that picture inside.”

 

“Mm.” Jesse nodded slowly. “Cass... I think this is my fault.”

 

Cass felt his neck strain with the whiplash of looking at Jesse. Whatever he was expecting to come out of the preacher’s mouth, it wasn’t that. “What? No. Fuck. Fuck no. You can’t go thinkin’ like that, padre. Ain’t your fault the idjit took your words literally, you were only tryin’ to help.”

 

He thought Jesse was going to say more, but he just closed his mouth, shaking his head again. Cass felt a tightness around his chest then and he thumped it once, making sure the old undead ticker was still ticking. When everything felt right physically Cass admitted, if only in the very back of his mind, that he just didn’t like seeing his Jesse this way. Maudlin drinking with a bud was one thing, but this...

 

Throwing caution to the wind—and thinking that maybe throwing in general was the way to go—Cass tossed the stolen jacket over Jesse’s legs, then hunkered down into an embarrassed ball. Jesse blinked, befuddled, which was admittedly an improvement on the expression he’d had before.

 

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, plucking at the fabric.

 

Cass pursed his lips. “Cloned government wanker.”

 

“... like I’m gonna believe that.”

 

“You never do.”

 

“Sorry,” Jesse said, the hints of a real smile showing up. “I’m bad company tonight, Cass. Feel free to ditch at any time.”

 

“Bad company’s the best kind, so far as I’m concerned.”

 

It was getting darker, allowing Cass a little more legroom as the tombstones cast longer shadows. There weren’t many, and Cass wasn’t blind, see, ‘cause he’d spotted that “Custer” marker even running full pelt from the sun. Seemed like Jesse had enough on his mind though, and if he wasn’t brining it up then neither would Cass. They had shade, a bottle nearly gone, and the awkward picture of a dead man staring down at them. What else did two assholes need in life?

 

Maybe a little more reassurance, if Jesse’s expression was anything to go by. It was real pinched around the edges, his eyes skittering over that stupid photo like it was a barcode or something, taking in each piece of information but refusing to see the whole. The coat was still slung over his knees and he twisted it, strong hands distorting the fabric. Cass almost reached up to lay his hand over Jesse’s before he thought better of it.

 

“Padre? C’mon back now.”

 

Jesse twitched. “Sorry, sorry, just... feels…feels like a wound, you know?”

 

“Ay, I know. Want me to kiss it better for ya?”

 

“... Yeah.”

 

Again with the whiplash.

 

Cass wasn’t exactly the comforting sort, too much rancid baggage of his own and, you know, the undead thing didn’t help. Best Cass was good for was handing off a bottle—which Jesse had already secured—and throwing out sarcastic comments, hoping against hope that the other one got what Cass was trying to say. So yeah, hadn’t exactly expected anything other than a laugh out of Jesse. Probably of the disgusted variety.

 

He looked up to see if Jesse was teasing... but no, that beautiful face was just as serious as stone.

 

“Unless you don’t want to,” he finished. Jesse tipped the bottle Cass’ way. “Though I think you do.”

 

“... this the time and the place, padre?”

 

“Hell, watching us would be the most action Ted ever saw. You didn’t get any in life, buddy, but maybe some in death...?” and this time Jesse tipped his bottle at the picture.

 

Cass considered. “You’re right drunk for once, ain’t you?”

 

“Gettin’ there,” and the third time was the charm. Jesse tipped the bottle his own way and let the liquor pour down his throat. A thin stream went down his neck too and Cass honed in on it. That was like a damn dessert, that was: blood, toped with skin, toped again with booze: Jesse à la mode.

 

“Alright then,” he said and heaved himself to his feet.

 

All those lovely shadows now. They let Cass prowl around the chair a few times, getting a good look at Jesse and trailing his hands here and there. Jesse watched him with just his eyes, body still and loose. He only moved to set the empty bottle down on the ground, the coat following soon after.

 

Cass stopped in front of Jesse. “Quit starin’ at the picture, now, it’s damn disconcerting.”

 

“Who am I meant to stare at them?”

 

“Take a wild fuckin’ guess,” and Cass crawled up into Jesse’s lap.

 

No easy task, that. Unstable lawn chairs weren’t exactly meant for two blokes and the whole thing tipped precariously when Cass tried to stake his claim. After much cursing and wrestling he ended up square across Jesse’s thighs, both legs through the holes beneath the armrests, feet keeping him steady in the dirt. Cass was about a hair’s width from Jesse’s face now. He reeked of booze.

 

“Well this is cozy,” he said.

 

Jesse squirmed and grumbled. “You’re heavy, Cass.”

 

“Too heavy for ya?”

 

“Bullshit,” and Jesse dragged him down by the front of his shirt.

 

Cass had imagined kissing Jesse a whole slew of different ways, often becoming more implausible the more he indulged: the preposterous idea that he could seduce the preacher with ratty clothes and unwashed skin, a fucked up striptease with his—count ‘em—total of one outfit. Sometimes Cass imagined a life and death scenario, blasted in half by some asshole’s shotgun, bleeding out in beautiful Jesse’s arms. It would be a devastating scene that brought tears to the eye, and Cass would absolutely steal a kiss before his untimely ‘demise.’ Or maybe it would be a different kind of need, Jesse realizing that Cass was the only non-homophobe he had access to in this town—Cass didn’t mind being the default option. Not if it meant that Jesse was his reward.

 

Most of all though, Cass imagined it happening in their pews, just enough whisky in their systems to loosen Jesse up. Well, they certainly had that, though the graveyard was a touch Cass honestly hadn’t expected. Sort of hot though.

 

And heat... what now? For a second Cass thought some of that fading light had set him ablaze because his neck suddenly burned something fierce. Then he realized it was Jesse: traversing the distance and sucking one hell of a hickey beside Cass’ adam’s apple.

 

Cass titled his head to the sky and grinned. “Bitin’ necks... think that’s my job.”

 

Jesse grunted in response, clearly not up for Cass’ ‘jokes’ right now. He bent his head down to his collarbone, tugging Cass’ shirt out of the way so he could get at the skin there. Cass opened his mouth to warn him—haven’t showered in a while, padre, that spot got cooked by the sun, padre, might have some clone juice there, padre—but Jesse was already lapping at him like a kitten with a bowl full of milk… and wasn’t that just the cutest image to ever pop into his head. Kitten Jesse. Cass laughed.

 

Jesse pulled back. “You high?”

 

“Oddly enough, no. Not yet anyway’s. Got somthin’ you’re not sharin’?”

 

“Only you,” Jesse muttered and set to work again.

 

Cass couldn’t have been more surprised if those douches had shown up in rubber duck costumes and sang him the Macarena. He’d expected dirty from Jesse. Hot and sordid and fast. Not this slow-paced examination. Jesse was nuzzling Cass’ neck now, pressing light kisses here and there, his hands running soothing paces up and down his back. He was hard alright, and maybe it was the drink, but Jesse didn’t seem too frenzied to do anything about it. It was just a warm weight pressed against Cass, sort of waiting for him. Cass rocked experimentally and Jesse hummed, titling back so Cass fell further against his chest.

 

“Whoa,” he breathed as Jesse gave his ear a sharp bite, then soothed it over with licks and sucks. His hands had wormed their way under Cass’ shirt now, just massaging his lower back in a way that made all those aches and pains way too apparent. Cass groaned in a manner that really had nothing to do with his hard on. One of those hands rose and carded through Cass’ hair, alternating between pets and scratches.

 

It felt languid. Like the kind of shit you pulled with a partner after twenty years of bedding them. It felt like Jesse was worshiping him and Cass didn’t know what to do with that, _jesus_.

 

He might have panicked just a bit. “You uh... want me to suck ya off, padre? Mm?” and Cass made to pull back, the whole thing embarrassingly desperate.

 

Jesse held him firm though. “Want it slow,” he murmured, scraping his scruff against Cass’. “You’re worth it.”

 

Well shit.

 

“Uh...” Cass said intelligently.

 

Which was about when Jesse lifted his chin, examining Cass like one of those posh fuckers looking at fine art. His eyes were hooded, but Cass still saw the sharp spark of intent there, a desire that wasn’t diminished by the speed they were taking. And hell... may the almighty himself smite Cass if Jesse wasn’t the prettiest thing his old eyes had ever seen. Hungry and loose like that, perfect features framed by the setting sun... Jesse Custer belonged in the daylight, yessiree, but Cass would take him in the shadows just as well.

 

“You make me feel better,” Jesse admitted, and before Cass could say something equally sappy, Jesse leaned in for a kiss.

 

Each was different of course, nearly incomparable, yet Cass still would have proclaimed this The Best within a second of starting. Jesse was all slow, purposeful movements, leading Cass whether he wanted to be led or not (but oh, did he ever). They spent a few moments being astoundingly chaste before Jesse slipped his tongue in, sweeping through Cass’ mouth. His lips were cracked and dry from the endless heat and when Jesse surged forward his bottom lip split—the barest bit of blood seeping between them. Cass let out a hungry growl and pressed closer.

 

Jesse pulled back.

 

“You taste like blood,” he said, brow furrowed.

 

Cass was still feeling drugged. “Ay,” he said, grinning. “You do,” and he made to lick at that cut some more. Jesse pulled back further.

 

“No, Cass, _you_ do. Whole damn mouth taste like a penny gone bad. Fuck, are you okay?” Jesse smushed Cass’ cheeks, turning him this way and that like he could actually tell if something was wrong. “The hell have you been doing?”

 

Cass blinked. Shook Jesse’s hand off. Scratched the back of his neck. “Right... okay. Truth?”

 

Jesse glared. “Of course.”

 

“Alright then…Ya know the whole ‘I’m a vampire and I’ve just been feedin’ off two government clones’ thing?”

 

“... Yeah.”

 

“I’m _really_ a vampire and I really _have_ been feedin’ off two government clones. Though! In my defense! Those fuckers deserved it.”

 

Jesse looked torn, which was farther than Cass had ever gotten with him before. He even went so far as to point at Cass, trying to determine if he was serious or if this was just drink causing trouble.

 

“Bullshit,” he said.

 

“Okay, you know what, c’mon, you ass—”

 

Cass got off the chair. More like he fell backwards and kicked like a damn horse with his legs caught, but the point was he did it, despite how much he wanted to just cuddle up to Jesse and forget the whole thing. He grumbled the whole way, kicking the empty bottle and throwing a finger at dead Ted for good measure. Under the cover of darkness Cass led a wobbling Jesse back towards the church.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, you realize you’re gonna owe me everythin’ for this, yeah? Hurry up, ya useless drunk, right around this corner— _there_.” Cass stopped in front of the unburied bodies, throwing his arms out and doing jazz hands for good measure. “Ta da! Look at these fools. Look at what I do to protect ya. Can we get back to the sexy times now?”

 

Jesse was staring in muted horror down at the men, mutilated quite horrifically now that Cass bothered to look. Jesse pressed one hand briefly against his mouth.

 

“Cass... you _killed_ these men?”

 

“You’re not... aw fuck me you’re still not gettin’ it, are ya? Or rather _don’t_ fuck me the way this night is goin’, look...”

 

Cass could have torn a hole into the second guy, but blood just got all kinds of nasty after it had been sitting for a while. Congealed and shit. Instead Cass wandered over to the church’s wall, counting off the planks...no... no... ah! Twelfth one in he kicked, revealing a rotten part that immediately fell away.

 

“Gotta get this place some upkeep,” Cass said, grunting as pulled his little cooler out. Popping the lid he let out a happy squeal, grabbing an AB positive he’d stolen from Annville General. AB was always a treat.

 

Cass ripped into the bag and poured the blood down his throat, all while making eyes at Jesse.

 

Jesse... sort of swayed.

 

“See, padre? _Vampire_. I don’t know how else to prove it too ya, unless you want to wait until the sun comes up and I’ll set myself on fire.” Cass tossed the empty bag aside, suddenly serious. “No really. I’d do it. For you I would. Hurts like a bitch but... shit, padre. If we’re gonna do the do you gotta understand you’ll be doin’ it with an abomination. You walk away now and,” Cass spread his hands. “No hard feelings. We can move on or... or I can move out. Whatever you need.”

 

Jesse was looking at the bag and the bodies, finally raising his eyes to Cass. “You’re not an _abomination_ ,” he said.

 

What?

 

“...No?”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

“Oh.” Cass put a hand to his stomach, sort of feeling like he’d been punched there.

 

Jesse scrubbed a hand over his head and face. “You gonna hit me if I say we table this? Just... for a few days or something? Give me time to process.”

 

“Yeah! Sure thing, yeah, no—no problem.” Cass yelped it all, too pleased by that ending to do anything but. “Just until you process...?” he finished, asking for reassurance.

 

Jesse nodded firmly. “Until I sober up, until you brush your _teeth_ —”

 

Just like that the tension was broken, Cass grinning and Jesse barking out a laugh. The two of them took unconscious steps closer. It felt like every cheesy chick flick Cass had ever indulged in... with an extra helping of horror.

 

He fucking loved it.

 

“So, uh...” Cass shrugged. “Want to help me bury these bodies?”

 

Jesse grinned. “That a date?”

 

“... yeah.”

 

“Alright.”

 

And what a hell of a date it was.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to stop by my tumblr (itsclydebitches) and send me a prompt!]


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